


It's On Pt. 2

by A_Writer231



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Writer231/pseuds/A_Writer231
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part two of the Two-shot Sherlock fan fiction. Enjoy.<br/></p>
    </blockquote>





	It's On Pt. 2

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Game pt. 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339555) by [A_Writer231](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Writer231/pseuds/A_Writer231). 



> Part two of the Two-shot Sherlock fan fiction. Enjoy.  
> 

It's about 5:30pm when I slip into my well loved jacket and scarf. My hair is fluffed out and I have a hair tie on my wrist if need be. I wore a royal blue dress shirt that liked to rise up because of the elastic along the bottom hem. Dark grey stretch jeans hung low on my hips and clung tightly to my legs. These happen to be a favorite pair of mien not only because they look amazing on, but because instead of a zipper, there is four buttons and there is only butt pockets on them. Brown boots with a half inch heel which lace up the front covered my feet and reached up to mid calf.

For jewelry I had on a ring from my graduating class on the middle finger of my left hand and a silver celtic cross hung from my neck Both are well loved and extremely important to me.

With a couple 20 pound notes tucked into an inside pocket of my jacket and the door locked behind me, I begin the walk to Baker Street. Its not like it was that far away and as a bonus it was very nice out this evening, albeit a bit cold for my taste. Knowing sherlock though or from what i’ve heard, I should warm up rather quickly once i’m with him.

A brisk walk in the chillin air later I was on the steps to the door 221B on Baker st. I rap twice on the hard green, maybe blue door with the back of my knuckles. After a few moments go by the door squeals open on ungreased hinges. An elderly lady pops into view, smiling brightly. 

“Hello dear. Are you here for Sherlock?”

I nod. “That I am. My name’s ______.”

She giggles behind a hand & pulls me inside. 

“You can call me Miss Hudson, deary. Shall I call Sherlock for you?”

“No needs Mrs. Hudson, I saw her walk up”

Sherlock appears at the top of the stairs, Jacket or coat (?) on and pulling on black drawing gloves. 

“Hello Sherlock.” I smile as he descended the stairs. 

“Evening ______,” He grabs my hand, spins me around and ushers mr towards the door. “We must be off; reservations are in 10.”

I giggle and hurry along; calling over my shoulder, “Lovely meeting you miss Hudson!”

Til next time!” “Goodbye dears! Have fun!” Her response got swallowed up by the door swinging shut.  
Sherlock throws an arm up at the edge of the sidewalk; hailing us a cab. When it pulls up, he opens the door and gestured for me to enter first. With a sly smile, I slide in and over to the other side. He flops down into his seat and slams the door after him. The cabbie takes off and sherlock gives him the street address of where we are headed. 

“How was your day?” I question lightly.

“Finished a case this morning, it was rather boring,” He answered blankly, eyes on the changing scenery outside. 

“Oh? What made it so boring then, the lack of a chase or the stupidity of the clients?” I turn and look at him.

His gaze meets mine.”Daughter had an online relationship, one day he just disappears, ‘breaking her heart,’" He uses finger quotes “In reality it was her stepfather posing as an online boy. He crushes her, making her swear off guys and keeps her at home so that the stepfather still gets her income. Easy and frankly, idiotic.”

I nodd. “That’s certainly different for sure. Internet relationships rarely work out as is, especially with all the fakes out there,”

“And you’ve experienced that,” It wasn't a question. 

“Most everyones does,” I said aloft with a wave of a dismissive hand. 

The cab pulls to a stop at the sidewalk and Sherlock throws two tenner over the front seat; stepping out and i follow close behind. With a slam of the door, the cabbie takes off. Sherlock places a hand on my back and pressed me forward to the restaurant standing over us. Before I’m able to locate a sign or get much detail, I’m whisked inside. 

“Table for two?” A waiter fake smiles as we enter.

“Reservation for Holmes,” Sherlock instructs with a sneer. 

She's visibly swallows and looks down at the list on the hostess stand. She scans it quickly, scratches the pen across the sheet and looks up at the pair of us as she snatches up some menus with shaky hands.

“Right this way.” She mumbles, head bowed and walk through the sea of tables.

Sherlock, again , places a hand on my back and heads me after the frightened waitress. The waitress heads us to a table off to the right side and in the back. She places the menus down, gestures to the table with a stiff arm and quickly scuttled away with the words “Your waiter will be with you shortly” tossed carelessly over her shoulder. 

We snuck off our jackets, place them on the back of our chairs and take our seats. I lift my menu only to have it slapped down onto the table. With a raised brow, I glance up at the child like man seated across from me. All he did was raise his own brow in return before the waiter waltz up to our table. The waiter run through his speal; miss what can I get you tonight”. 

“A bottle of 2008 schramsberg Blanc de Noirs will be all for now. Thank you.” Sherlock quipped rather rudely. 

The waiter nodded and walked away. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest: throwing sherlock at pontal looks. He rolls his eyes. 

“if you would just look around, you’d see that eating won't be in our forecast any time soon”. 

I follow his words and look. A handfell of couples, enjoying their romantic evening, a family with two annoyed teenagers toward the front of the restaurant and three single dinners at opposite corners of the room. My gaze swings back to the man in front of me. 

“What am I looking for?” I asked. He smiles coyly. 

“We walked in and the couple at the very front immediately got on their phones - mid conversation mind you. The single diner we walked past switched seats he was seated with his back to us. And our waiter had gun in the back of his trousers.”

I scuff. “How was I supposed to see all that?” Sherlock's mouth opens, then closes. I giggle “and people say you're the smart one of your little duo.” He opens his mouth to speak once again but the waiter jumps in out of nowhere - declaring he has our wine. Very elegantly he pours Sherlock a glass but when he goes to fill up mine, Sherlock stops him a firm grip on his wrist. 

“It seems i’ve missed something - which I rarely do,” Sherlock forces the waiters hand open and sitting in his palm is a tiny vial. He glances up at me. "Poison. You've read John's blogs, I take it?" 

I nod slightly, miffed he caught something with such tiny detail. Sherlock winks saucily. 

"Then by all means, Vatican Cameos."

I grip the knife provided and slam the sharp end into the lag of the waiter. He gasps and falls dramatically to the ground. A woman screams and everyone makes a break for it - all except two, The couple at the door steps forward while the man by himself disappears out the kitchen door. 

I can tell my eyes are wide as saucers and i’m on the verge of hyperventilating; questioning myself why i did what I did. I’m no hero. Sherlock stands, walks around the table and swivels my chair so i’m facing the approaching duo and he stands behind me, hands resting on my shoulders. 

“Good girl.” Is breathed into my ear. Out of the corner of my eye I can see, barely, the naturally curly bangs that fall over his forehead. “Keep breathing, thats it. Now, I’m going to push your chair back, you’ll kick the man where it hurts then chase after the man who left out back. Got it?”

I swallow. “Yeah, sure.”

“Put your jacket on, it’s a bit chilly out,” He stands straight and gently helps my into my jacket.

I zip it up part way and go to pull my hair out from underneath it but my hands are batted away. A flash of blue and I’ve Sherlock’s well loved and used scarf tied around my neck.

“Are you quite done yet? We do have a schedule to uphold.” The female snarls.

Gingerly, Sherlock pulls my hair from my coat. I nod, more to myself them to anyone else.

The man lunges forward and i’m tipped back. I kick out with my right leg and catch him right in the nards. He goes down harder than a lion after being shot with an african blow dart. I’m spun around and pushed out of my chair. I follow my instructions, and stumble through the kitchen doors and out the emergency exit; thuds and groans of pain chasing after me.

When I burst out the back door I look to the mouth of the ally. At the streets edge stands the man I’m following, phone pressed tightly to his ear. 

“Hey, you!” I shout, moving towards him

He glances over his shoulder, and I can see his eyes visibly widen. He mutters something to the person on the other end and hangs up, looks to me once more before taking off full sprint down the street to the left.

“Shit,” I exclaim and bok it after him.

We pass through mobs of people, a few getting pushed out of the way. An elderly lady gets tossed to the ground. I throw an apology at her and keep after the man; slowly gaining on him. My breath comes I pant and my chest heaves; asthma beginning to make itself known.

I wheeze and stumble out of my run into a stand. I lean on my knees and suck in a few mouth fulls of air.

“No, no. This will never do.” A voice says above me.

“ I peer up through the mussed and chaotic mess my hair has become. Sherlock, in all his popped collared gallery stood above me, eyes up; most likely still watching the man run away.

“When-” I cough into my arm. “when did you catch up?”

“Later,” He reaches down and grabs ahold of my hand, pulling me up right. “for now, let’s catch out escapee.

I see a small curl of his lips before i’m jerked forward and once again running.

“Jesus christ, Sherlock!” I complain only to get the sound of a very amused chuckle as a reply.

We pursue the man, slowly gaining on the tiring man thanks to Sherlock pulling me along. I can see the man began to panic, turning his head to and fro; looking for a way out of his impending doom. The surrounding begins to remind me of my high school days and when he turns the corner into an ally, i pull from Sherlocks grasp.

“Keep going! I know where he’ll come out at, so i’ll cut his off.” I didn’t get so much of an answer other than Sherlock continuing the chase.

I duck into an ally we past a few paces ago and run; excitement of the chase fueling my adrenalin, pushing me faster. Is this what Sherlock feels like when he’s gotten a good case?

The end of my passage way comes closer, ending in a 3 way split with mine meeting a back cut through; connecting mine with our runners. My footfalls echo against the brick wall but not loud enough the other two sets can't be heard slapping against the ground frantically, gaining in sound. I push myself harder; throwing my body into the intersection. Thankfully my years as a teen have lead me true and i body check - luckily enough - right into our runner.

He goes flying into the adjacent wall and i manage to just barely stay on my feet; thank you physics. The man groans and Sherlock comes to a stop next to me. Both of us are panting for breath, but I more savagely than him.

I pull in a breath; a smug look upon my features - the ‘fuck you’ sign on my fingers. “Take that, motherfucker.”

Sherlock chuckles and ruffles my hair. “Call Scotland Yard and ask for Lestrade. We’ve got our hit.”

_______________________TIME SKIP_______________________  
Red and blue police lights flash against brick walls and the crackle of low quality radios fill the air in the over crowded allyway. Granted it was only Sherlock, Lestrade and the newly met Donovan and I, but it is an ally. Lestrade and Sherlock talk near the rear of the car - Lestrade wildly gesturing with his hands at the man slumped over in the back seat. I sit on the hood, leaning back on my hands and right leg crossed over the left. Donovan stand to my right, hands shoved into her jacket pockets.

She keeps looking me over, a question on the tip of her tongue. I let her work up with courage to ask; no way was I going to engage in her first - knowing Sherlocks history with her. I dont have to wait long though. 

“You look normal, so why are you with the freak?” She bluntly asks - well, demand to know. 

“I’m appalled and flattered that you think i’m normal. And we’re on a date, or we were ‘till we had to chase after the man. Hell for all i know, we still are.” I ramble a little. She looks at me in disbelief. 

“Sherlock, on a date? You’ve got to be joking.” She giggles.

I snort and slide off the hood in favor of standing with my feet apart and arms crossed over my chest. 

“Why would i be joking? Dating isn’t a foreign concept - well for you it might be.” With head tilted to the right, a grin creeps to my lips. She flushes red and mumbles about having another freak to deal with. 

“Watch your words Donovan, you’re speaking to the more famous person in the musical and written artist worlds.” Sherlock pips, standing next to me suddenly, flanked by DI Lestrade.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” 

“Donovan, that’s ______ _____. famous pianist player and hot shot writer,” Lestrade offers indifferently before turning to me. “Love the song ‘Flight Risk’ by the way, very moving.” 

I brighten considerably. “ Thank you Greg. I actually wrote that song for one of my books. It’s called -”

“Cat and Mouse.” Sherlock finishes.

All three of us give him a bewildered look and after a moment my face breaks out into a grin and i wrap an arm around his middle.

“Awe, how sweet. You stalked me.” I coo with a slight giggle, looking up and meeting Sherlock’s downward gaze. 

Lestrade bursts out laughing, having to bend over at the waist and rest his hands on his knees. I don't necessarily see as much as feel Donovan giving us a mixed look of disgust and horrification. Sherlock gives my head a pat. 

“I’ve given Lestrade my statement on how he got a concussion, so we can leave now.”

“Back to Baker street?” I question.

A corner of his lips curl. “Of course.” and he drags me off down the street, an arm thrown over my shoulder. I call out a good bye over my shoulder the fall into a comfortable silence with Sherlock as we make our way back to his flat.

A full body shiver from me jarred my stride and Sherlock looked down at me; eye brow raised in silent question. 

“I got sweaty from our impromptu sprint and it’s now dried. I need to shower.” I explain and he nods.

“It would seem i need one too.” We turn the corner onto Baker street, Sherlock’s flat about a block away now. A smirk makes its way onto my lips and a giggle pours from in between them. 

“We should save water and shower together. Help saving the planet and all that.” I about have an aneurysm with how hard i’m trying not to laugh as Sherlock stays silent for a few moments. 

“Well,” He clears his throat. “If i’m to have you help me more often on cases, it only seems logical to make sure you don't become ill. John getting married really is an inconvenience.” He mumbles the last part under his breath.

I giggle, “Well, Mr Sherlock Holmes, I’m all yours unless I’m doing my actual job.”

“Of course, but i’m going to be monopolize all you free time.” We detangle and unlocks the door to 221B, holds it open for me then steps through himself. It latches closed behind him.

“Mrs. Hudson!” He bellows as we shed our coats. That poor lady. She burst through her door; flustered.

“Yes, dear?”

“Make us some tea, will you? ______ will be staying the night.” He says indifferently, pulling his scarf from around my neck. 

Mrs. Hudson turns and gives me a look. I wink, grinning and she gives a schoolgirl giggle before turning to go back inside. Sherlock grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs. Just because this one is over doesn’t mean that the game still isn’t on.


End file.
